


Thorn in the Side

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Appendicitis, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Movie Night, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt may not always be the best when it comes to his health, but this time he thought he was on top of it.<br/>Turns out he's not. He's definitely not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Idlewild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idlewild/gifts).



> This is part of my Daredevil Secret Santa, and since my first one was so short, I figured I'd write another, and this is what I got as a second request.  
> A little late, but here you go.

Matt realized he was probably getting sick. He hadn't checked, but he was sure he was feverish. He'd thrown up more than once, and his stomach was sore.

But he hated being sick. He didn't like it when he was a child, even before the blindness, and after it just become worse.

And there was the whole Catholic guilt thing, that he hated burdening others and not being a contributing member of society.

Or at least that's what Foggy told him when he got pneumonia in law school, and refused to even go to the doctor until his fever was so high he didn't remember Foggy dragging him. Matt liked to think he exaggerated.

 

So he hadn't gone out the night before, actually went to bed early after swallowing some pills and hoping they'd stay down. He didn't sleep well, waking up from the pain more than once. But he hadn't thrown up since the night before, and he counted that as a victory.

 

Still, he got up when his alarm announced it was 7:30, and powered through the pain. He skipped breakfast, the thought of food making his nauseous, and headed to work early, hoping for an easy day where neither of his coworkers would bother him too much.

 

It really wasn't that much to ask.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You look like shit my friend,” Foggy told him.

“Good morning to you too,” Matt muttered, shuffling by him in an attempt to get into his office.

“No, I'm serious. You're pale and simultaneously flushed, which isn't a good look. You hurt?” he asked, his voice lowered, despite the fact that Karen wasn't in the office yet.

Matt shook his head. “No. I think... I might be getting sick,” he hedged.

“Ah, no, you are definitely already sick. Why didn't you stay home?”

Matt didn't say anything, just tilted his head away from Foggy and tried not to look guilty.

“Ah,” Foggy said finally, nodding. “Is this one of those Catholic guilt things?”

Matt rolled his eyes.

“Dude. Come on. Go home. Sleep. Rest. Eat soup. Nap. Don't go out.”

“I didn't,” Matt muttered.

“Good. And don't go out again until you're better.”

He placed a hand on Matt's forehead and Matt swatted it off. “You're not my mother Foggy,” he huffed.

“No, but apparently I am your conscience. You've got a fever. Come on bud. Go home.”

Matt sighed. He knew that he'd lost the battle. Foggy knew it too.

“I'll come over after work, bring you some of that soup from the place you like, and we can pretend I made it. Okay?”

Matt smiled. Nodded.

He turned around and shuffled back out, shuffled right back to his apartment, swallowed more pills, and climbed into bed with his laptop.

He stuck on a documentary, curled up, and tried to fall asleep despite the pain in his side.

 

Some time later he woke up again, the documentary apparently over, and the pain in his side worse.

 

He made it to the bathroom before throwing up again, which only made his stomach hurt more. The bathroom tile was soothing on his hot skin, and he debated laying down there to sleep. The only thing that stopped him was how terrible his mouth tasted.

 

He shuffled out to the kitchen to rinse his mouth, and swallowed more pills while he was at it. They probably wouldn't do anything for the nausea, but they should help with the fever, and maybe the pain.

Matt also debated eating something, since he hadn't kept anything down since the previous day's lunch, but he couldn't bear the thought of eating so soon after throwing up.

 

He crawled back into bed, queued up another movie that should have been boring enough to put him to sleep, and tried to meditate the pain away.

 

It might have worked, or he might have fallen asleep, because he was interrupted when Foggy knocked on his door.

Matt grumbled in that general direction. “Use your key,” he mumbled. He knew Foggy couldn't hear him, but he couldn't work up the energy to say it any louder, or to get out of bed to let him in like he was supposed to.

 

Shortly after, he heard the key in the lock.

“I'm just letting myself in Matt,” Foggy called. “No need to get all ninja or anything.”

Matt huffed into the pillow. He could smell the soup that Foggy promised, and it made his stomach roil again in protest.

He willed it away.

He heard Foggy's footsteps come closer, and he managed to roll over a bit and tried to look a little less pathetic. He didn't think it worked.

 

Foggy sighed. “Have you been here all day?”

“Is it over?” Matt mumbled.

“Well. Yeah. I guess. It's after 6.”

Matt hummed.

Foggy pressed his hand to Matt's forehead again. This time he knew it was coming, but he let it happen. It was kind of nice, the coolness of his hand against the head of Matt's skin. Seriously, were the drugs not working at all? Or had it been so long that the drugs had worn off already? He didn't know.

“Dude, you're hot.”

Matt smirked at him.

He practically heard Foggy roll his eyes. “You're feverish,” he corrected.

“Took drugs. Dunno if they worked.”

“What's even wrong? Sore throat? Cough? Pneumonia... again?”

“Stomach flu. I think.”

“You think?” Foggy asked.

Matt shrugged. “Been throwing up. Stomach pain. Fever.”

“Food poisoning?” Foggy suggested.

“Haven't eaten anything new,” Matt mumbled. He curled up tighter around a fresh wave of pain.

“Okay, and the stomach pain?”

Matt gestured vaguely to his abdomen.

“Wow, thank you captain specific.”

Matt shrugged again. “It just hurts, okay.”

“Yeah, sure. Do you want to try to eat?”

“Don't think it'll stay down. Nothing has.”

“And you didn't think to mention that? You're probably dehydrated.”

“Been trying to drink. With the pills.”

“Let me guess, you don't have any drugs to help with this?”

“Dunno.”

Foggy sighed at him again. “I'll check your medicine cabinet. I'm guessing not though. I can run out and grab some.”

“You're the best,” Matt told his pillow as Foggy headed to the bathroom.

“Oh, I know!” he called back.

 

Foggy returned empty handed, and headed out to a nearby store, promising to be back shortly.

 

Matt must have drifted off again, because he awake to Foggy moving things around in his kitchen, rustling bags and opening a can.

 

He tried to slide himself into a sitting position, and the stomach pain protested fiercely.

He groaned.

 

“You awake in there?” Foggy called. “I got some drugs, and some ginger ale. That always helped me when my stomach was upset.”

 

He came into the room, carrying the pop. Matt could hear it fizzing. He handed two tablets to Matt. “They should dissolve under your tongue, so you can't throw them back up. Then we'll try some ginger ale, okay?”

Matt nodded.

“And then we can try and get some painkillers in you, okay?”

Matt nodded. “Then maybe some soup?” he asked hopefully.

“If it goes well.”

Matt nodded sagely. “Of course.”

 

He drifted in and out for the rest of the night, the ginger ale staying down, along with the painkillers, and even a bit of soup before he must have passed out for the night.

 

Matt was pretty sure it was morning when he woke up next, the nausea returned and the pain in his side making itself known as the painkillers wore off. The fever didn't seem to be any better either.

He groaned.

There was a stirring from the living room. Matt listened carefully.

“Foggy?” he called.

“Mm?” he mumbled back.

“Why are you still here?”

“Cause you're sick. And you're my friend.” Matt heard him roll off the couch and shuffle into the bedroom. “Feeling any better?”

“The drugs wore off,” Matt said in lieu of an answer.

“But no more vomiting?”

Matt shook his head.

“Well, that's a start. More pills and maybe some breakfast?”

Matt nodded, ignoring the pain in his side, and attempted a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets worse from here, obviously, because Matt is a sad cinnamon roll who I like to punish.


	2. Chapter 2

Foggy made oatmeal for breakfast, and Matt managed to eat some of it. The nausea dissipated with the pills, and the pain even decreased a bit with the painkillers, although it was still there. Matt was starting to wonder if it wasn't the stomach flu or food poisoning. Weren't they only supposed to last 24 hours?

But he didn't want to concern Foggy.

 

They spent the afternoon watching a movie that Foggy had managed to download, illegally (Matt hoped he knew a good defense attorney in case he ever got caught) with Foggy providing the descriptive audio.

It was kind of a nice way to spend a Saturday, even if he wished it came without the pain and illness. But it was the first time he and Foggy had really had time to relax together since the whole thing with Fisk. They'd been busy with work, and had both come up with excuses in the hopes of avoiding awkward things on weekends. Plus, Matt was pretty sure Foggy still harboured some ill feelings about the whole Daredevil thing.

 

Matt still felt pretty awful, but he was in better spirits when Foggy left that night. He took more of the drugs and figured that a shower couldn't make him feel worse. At the very least, it would get rid of the sweat and lingering sense of sickness that clung to him.

 

The pain in his stomach was worse, and it had moved to his side. It was definitely worse when standing and moving, which he realizes as soon as he was in the shower and it was too late to go back.

 

The hot water definitely felt nice though, despite the pain, and he really liked not feeling like his skin was sticking to his clothing.

 

Although when it came to drying off, he was more content to curl up in the towel on the floor and sort of air dry, rather than put any effort into it.

 

He took more painkillers after he managed to get himself up off the floor and clothed and crawled right into bed. It was seriously embarrassing how much sleeping he'd done in the past couple of days, and he wasn't even sure how he still managed to be tired.

 

Maybe it was because he didn't actually get much sleep, he reflected, sometime around 1am, when the pain woke him up again. In fact, it was getting bad enough that he considered calling Claire.

Perhaps in the morning. If it didn't get better. Of course, she'd probably just tell him to do the same things he'd been doing, rest, liquids, drugs. He really hated to bother her, especially on what was probably a day off.

 

He reminded himself that the mind controls the body and tried to meditate his way back to sleep. It didn't work very well.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He fielded Foggy's early morning call and convinced him he didn't need to come back over, that he was doing fine, really, and promised to call if he needed anything.

He hung up and only felt slightly guilty.

 

The pain was still present, despite the drugs, and Matt knew he should at least call Claire for her opinion.

 

He ate a banana and debated his choices. He could continue on as he had, taking drugs to make sure he could keep food and liquids down, control the pain a bit, and hope that he got better. He could call Claire, listen to her give the same advice, perhaps tell him to go to a clinic or the ER. He could actually go to a clinic or the ER, likely to be told the same things he already knew and that Claire would tell him.

All terrible choices, really.

 

Still, he dialed her number and hoped he wasn't bothering her, or waking her up.

 

“Hi, you've reached Claire, leave a message.”

Ugh. Matt hated leaving messages.

“Hey Claire, it's me. I just had a medical question, nothing urgent. Call me back when you get a chance okay? Thanks, bye.”

 

He hung up feeling stupid and like he'd wasted her time.

 

He swallowed another painkiller in the hopes that the higher dose might finally do something, and settled down with his laptop and the first series of Doctor Who. Foggy had been bugging him to start watching it, but it wasn't until he gave Matt the first series with descriptive video that Matt was actually able to watch it on his own.

 

“A pretty blonde girl sits up in bed. She's hot, but also young, so don't get any ideas.”

Matt laughed, despite the pain in his side. Foggy had seriously gone to all the trouble to make descriptive audio for all the episodes? Matt would have to think of some way to repay him. Like not getting hurt for a month or finding someway to get more clients or something, because this was so huge and so wonderful of Foggy to do.

 

Matt watched/listened to a bunch of episodes, enjoying the way Foggy described Lady Cassandra as 'literally a piece of skin with a face, it's disgusting'. He immediately like Harriet Jones and recognized Simon Pegg's voice before Foggy managed to place his face. He'd just finished the episode where Rose almost erased herself from history or something, he'd started to drift, when Claire called him back.

 

Thankfully his phone was nearby, because hell if he was going to get up off the couch for any reason besides another alien attack or something equally as bad, because the extra painkiller didn't even touch the stomach pain.

 

“Hey,” he answered.

“What's up? I know you said it isn't urgent, but you also probably would have called a collapsed lung nothing urgent, so I figured I'd get right to the point.”

“I'm glad you think so highly of me,” he muttered. “I'm pretty sure it's just the stomach flu, maybe food poisoning, but it's not really getting better and I'm kind of impatient.”

“Okay, when did it start?”

“Foggy sent me home from work Friday. I guess I knew it was starting the night before though, because I didn't go out.”

“Symptoms?”

“Vomiting, nausea, fever, stomach pain.”

“Have you been able to keep anything down?” she asked, alarmed. Justifiably so, because if he hadn't been able to keep anything down for three days, he would be seriously dehydrated by now.

“Yeah, Foggy went out and got me some drugs, so I've been able to keep stuff down. Water, soup, oatmeal. I had a banana for breakfast.”

“How high's the fever?”

“I'm not sure,” he admitted. “I haven't been checking. Not that high, but just enough to make me feel like crap.”

“Any blood in the vomit? Can you tell?”

“Yes, I can tell, and no, there wasn't. I would have actually gone to the doctor if that had happened. I'm not that reckless,” he added under his breath.

“Could have fooled me,” Claire huffed. “Well, it sounds like you're doing everything right.”

Matt made a pleased sound.

“Don't get too full of yourself. It sounds like you had a lot of help.”

“Yeah,” Matt admitted. If it wasn't for Foggy he'd still probably be throwing up pills.

“Well, let me know if anything changes or you get worse, but other than that, I'll see you next time you fall through my window, bleeding out. Which shouldn't be that soon considering you're sick,” she warned.

“I get the message,” Matt grinned. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she told him. “Take care of yourself.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Matt made it through the two episodes with the empty child and couldn't bring himself to hate Captain Jack. He quite liked the episode after that one, with Jack and the Doctor flirting, some of the lines, the way it ended.

 

After that, he realized that the only episodes left were the two of the season finale, and figured he couldn't watch the entire season in a day, so he took more pills, managed to eat some of the soup Foggy brought him, and went to bed.

 

When he woke up in the morning the pain was... gone.

He still didn't feel great. He was pretty sure the fever was still there, and there was still a hint of nausea rolling around. But the pain was the thing that was bothering him the most, and it had virtually vanished.

 

He did take some more pills before attempting breakfast, but it was the best he'd felt in days.

 

So he went to work.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You look... I don't want to say good, because you don't, but you do look a lot better, so I'm going to go with that.”

“Thanks, I think,” Matt said to Foggy. “What did I miss Friday?”

“Eh, not much. We've got a potential client coming in later this week. I talked to them on the phone, and apparently they might need someone on retainer. Apparently their lawyer turned out to be, and I'm quoting here 'a bag of dicks'.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Okay. If you've got that covered, I have some reading to do for the Varquez case.”

“Sure thing. Taking it easy still though, right?” Foggy asked carefully.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Yes. I'm not 100% yet,” he told Foggy, and he meant it. The nausea, albeit minor, was starting to remind Matt that it hadn't gone away entirely, and his head was spinning a bit. He probably just needed to sit down. Lingering dehydration.

 

He was two pages into a deposition when he realized the pain had returned. It wasn't big at first, and not as localized, but seemed to spread across his lower abdomen.

It was not fair. He was better. He wasn't sick anymore. He didn't want to be sick anymore. Mind over matter dammit.

 

Plus, Foggy would send him home again, and Matt'd had enough of that for at least a month. So he ignored it and kept reading even though it took him twice as long to decipher the braille than usual, and it still wasn't sinking in.

 

Karen came in at some point, poked her head in and greeted Matt, and he probably said something back. He didn't really remember. The Varquez case notes were all slipping and sliding together in his mind and he was having an increasingly hard time keeping track of the sequence of events.

 

Karen popped in again, asked Matt if he wanted anything for lunch, which he declined, and left the office. He heard her heartbeat travel down the stairs and out of the building. It hurt to listen to. Everything hurt.

 

It must have been shortly after Karen left that Foggy checked in on him. Technically he claimed he had a question, but Matt heard the spike that indicated he was lying.

 

“How are you feeling?” Foggy asked.

Matt was resting his head on one arm, the other hand poking at braille and absorbing nothing. It at least gave the illusion he was being productive.

Apparently Foggy saw right through that.

“Are you still sick?” Foggy asked, concern evident in his voice. He placed a hand to Matt's forehead.

 

Matt didn't exactly feel sick, but he also didn't feel well. He felt a bit like death. Not that he'd ever admit that to Foggy.

 

“No,” Matt muttered. “I'm fine.”

“No, you don't get to tell me that,” Foggy hissed. “You're burning up. Were you lying to me this morning?”

“I actually felt better,” Matt protested. “The pain was gone.”

“And now it's back?”

“Worse.”

“Jesus. Give me your wrist. I'll take your pulse.”

No, he couldn't let Foggy do that, he needed his pulse.

“I'm going to measure it, not keep it forever.”

He must have said that out loud.

“Yep. And like I said, wrist.”

Matt shook his wrist out from wherever it had been hiding. He wasn't sure. Since when had Foggy learned how to take a pulse?

“I'm not stupid. Also, Claire.”

Matt huffed.

It was a minute before Foggy spoke again.

“It's fast. Give me a minute to do the math.”

Matt huffed, and immediately winced.

“112. What is it normally?”

“Um. 72.”

“Okay, so it's fast. You're definitely feverish. The pain is a lot worse. Nausea back?”

Matt would have nodded but he was pretty sure it would hurt. Instead he hummed.

“And the stomach pain. How bad? One to ten.”

“Seven,” Matt admitted.

“And add two for the Murdock factor, making it a nine. Okay, definitely going to the hospital with you.”

Matt groaned.

“No, don't even. Come on, we'll get you sitting out here in a more comfortable chair with me.”

Foggy hauled Matt up by the arm, and his radar vision faded right before he passed out.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Foggy. There was Foggy. But there were... others? He wasn't sure. There were also hands, pressing at him, pulling and prodding. Hands that were not Foggy's. And the pain was definitely still there. And where was he? On the ground? It was nice and cool, there was that at least.

 

He groaned, and it was about that time that his hearing kicked in again, all of it, and he heard everything in a two block radius at once.

“You never listen to me-”

“-four dollars each-”

“-not him, it's you-”

“-ABSOLUTE SHIT OF A MAN-”

“-we just can't afford it right now sweetie-”

“-Matt can you hear me?”

 

That was the conversation he was supposed to be focusing on. He dialed in, blocked the rest out.

“Matthew, can you hear me?” Not Foggy's voice. And Foggy didn't call him Matthew unless he was really upset. Why would he be upset?

“Come on Matt, get with it.” That was Foggy.

Someone else, not Foggy, rubbed Matt's chest, hard.

He groaned and tried to push the hands away.

“Initial GCS 8,” someone else, not Foggy, but not the first not Foggy, said.

“Get off,” Matt said. Or at least he tried. He was pretty sure it came out all garbled, because he felt like he was halfway to death. And definitely lying on the floor, now that he reconsidered it.

“Matthew, can you open your eyes for me?”

Didn't Foggy tell them he was blind? Why would opening his eyes have any effect?

Still, he wasn't going to say no, not after they asked so nicely.

So he opened his eyes, not like it was any help, and tried to form some sense of what was happening. Even though he could have done the same with his eyes closed.

Social convention, he guessed.

“Good Matt. My name is Gabriel. My partner is Victoria. We're paramedics. Your friend called us because you passed out. He said that you've been sick for a few days. Can you tell me if anything hurts?”

That was a lot to process. But there was only one thing that they actually wanted a response to. And he knew the answer to that.

“Stomach.”

“Okay Matt. I'm going to press down on different areas. You let me know if it hurts.”

The man started on the left side, and moved to the right, then down to where the pain had been localized the previous days. It had spread from there, snaking across his entire lower abdomen.

“There,” Matt breathed, wincing as the man released his pressure.

“And over here?” he asked, pressing down on the other side.

“Not as much.”

“Okay. One more thing. Does it hurt more when I press down, or more when I let go.”

“Let go.” Definitely.

“Alright Matt. Victoria is putting an IV in your arm right now, so if you feel a poke, don't get too worried. We're going to take you to the hospital because we're worried that you might have an infection in your abdomen. There's also a mask on your face to give you extra oxygen. Do you have any questions?”

That was probably the first thing he should have noticed, but apparently his priorities weren't exactly in order.

“Foggy?” he asked.

“I'm right here Matt,” Foggy assured him, grabbing a hand. Matt squeezed back. “I panicked a bit when you passed out, so paramedics it was.”

Matt snorted at him.

“Line's in,” the other paramedic, whose name Matt had already forgotten, announced.

“Okay, run a liter of saline wide and get ready to bolus some to get his BP up. Matt, we're going to get you on a gurney now. Do you think you can help a bit?”

Matt frowned. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he was pretty sure his arms would be about as cooperative as wet noodles.

“It's okay if you can't, it just means we'll be lifting you a bit.”

Matt was surprisingly okay with that.

 

He faded a bit with the pain, and the trip to the ambulance was mostly a blur, but he remembered the ambulance, with its siren practically screeching directly into Matt's brain. Or at least that was how it seemed.

“Foggy?” he asked.

“Your friend is in the front with Victoria. You can see him when you get to the hospital.”

Matt would have laughed at the choice of words had the pain not been so bad.

“Should tell Claire,” Matt mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Your friend or one of the nurses can contact anyone else you need when you get to the hospital, alright? Just relax and keep taking nice deep breaths. How's the pain?”

“Bad,” he muttered.

 

He assumed they arrived at the hospital at some point, because he remembered more movement, and being passed off from the paramedics to whoever. Doctors, he supposed. Nurses too probably. He wondered if Claire was working that day.

 

“Patient's name is Matthew. He's got a fever of 39.2 and a history of possible stomach flu with right lower quadrant pain and rebound tenderness. BP is 102 over 64 after a liter of saline. He's tachy at 108. GCS was originally 8 when we assessed him, but he's around 13 now.”

“Thanks. We'll take it from here. Matt, I'm Anita, one of the nurses. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Stomach,” he mumbled.

“Matt, I'm going to be your doctor. I'm Dr Flores. Can you squeeze my fingers?”

Matt squeezed the gloved fingers that were placed in his hands.

“Great. How long have you been sick for?”

“Friday.” No, that wasn't right. “Thursday,” he corrected.

“Do you have any allergies or take any medications?”

He shook his head, which dislodged the oxygen mask he'd nearly forgotten about. A helpful nurse replaced it. Or he assumed so, since he couldn't tell.

“I'm just going to draw some blood from your arm to run tests on, Matt. You'll feel a little pinch.”

“I need cultures on those stat, as well as a full chem panel and blood count. What's his glucose at?”

“167,” someone else said.

“Okay, let's keep an eye on it. Anyone got a lactate level yet?”

Matt drifted, the main participant in the well coordinated sequence of events taking place around him, but more of an observer than anything else. He hummed when it was required of him, he let them take various fluids, poke at parts of his body, rub gel on him and press an ultrasound wand against his abdomen.

He knew Foggy was there for some of it, because he heard questions being answered about him, and he wasn't the ones doing the answering. Plus, how could he miss Foggy, even in a room as crowded as the one he was in?

Again, making assumptions, because his radar was still annoyingly spotty, and he couldn't seem to focus.

But he listened and they hung antibiotics and pushed other drugs to keep his blood pressure up. Foggy was given a form to sign, and Matt was a little offended they didn't ask him. He was right there after all.

“Matt, you're going to go to surgery. We think that your appendix burst, giving you an infection in your abdomen. The surgeon is going to clean out the infection and take out your appendix; do you understand?”

Matt hummed.

“Your friend signed the consent form, but if you have any questions, you can still ask them. Are you feeling okay?”

Matt hummed again. The pain had improved and he didn't feel as awful, although the disconnect with reality was growing. He suspected they'd given him pain medication at some point.

 

Foggy squeezed his hand and a new voice told him to count backwards from ten. He didn't even make it to seven.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have a sticky note on my desktop with all his lab values at admission. What can I say, I'm dedicated.


	5. Chapter 5

Matt blinked. It didn't change anything.

Right. The blindness thing.

He sighed. How long had it been since he'd forgotten? Why had he forgotten this time?

 

“You okay buddy?” Foggy asked.

Matt wasn't sure why he was there. “Why?”

“Wow, okay, they've got you on the good drugs. You're in the hospital, remember?”

Matt blinked again.

He had a vague recollection of something. Was he sick? Did he get hurt? Did he get hurt in disguise? Oh man, that would have been awful.

“What?”

“So many drugs. Okay. You were sick for a couple days and then you thought you were better, so you came to work, got worse, then collapsed. Turned out you had appendicitis. The pain got better because it burst, and then got worse again when the infection spread. So, surgery, antibiotics, and apparently a _hell_ of a lot of drugs. But you're on the mend, according to the doctors, so things are looking up. You should be getting to leave intensive care later today, maybe tomorrow depending on how things go. Oh, but Claire is pissed, and Karen is super disappointed, which might even be worse.”

Matt hummed. Foggy was probably right. A disappointed Karen made him feel like he was everything that was wrong in the world. And he felt like that on a good day.

“Why's Claire mad?”

“I think it's a combination of being mad at herself for not catching it, and mostly you for not telling her that stomach pain was actually side pain.”

“I don't see the difference,” Matt huffed. His fingers drifted under the sheets to his stomach, where he was pleased to find not one giant bandages, but smaller ones in various places.

“Yeah, the surgery wasn't very invasive, but they will need to do another one in a few days apparently. And get your hands out of there, you already have enough infection stuff,” Foggy complained, pulling Matt's hands away from his surgical sites and back on top of the blankets.

“Infection stuff?” Matt repeated. It sounded like Foggy was the one on painkillers.

“Shut up dude, I've been here for like a day while you've been passed out on the good stuff.”

And wow. That made his heart feel warm. And also hurt a little bit.

“You look like an idiot with that big dopey grin on your face.”

“I'm not smiling,” Matt protested.

“You most definitely are.”

“It's the drugs,” Matt huffed.

“Sure buddy. Sure.”

Matt had a point in there somewhere, before he got lost in the haze, and he was sure he'd circle back round to it again soon.

Foggy yawned.

Oh, that was it.

“You should go home. To sleep. And shower.”

“Wow, thanks buddy. I appreciate your concern.”

Matt frowned. He was pretty sure Foggy was being sarcastic, but he couldn't be sure.

“Oh jesus, don't make the wounded duck face.”

“You should sleep,” Matt insisted.

“Oh, like you should talk. I know you can't see them, but you've got bags under your eyes the size of the Hudson.”

“I'm sick,” he said, making a sad face.

“Oh god,” Foggy groaned. “Please stop doing that. I'll go if you want.”

“I don't want you to go, I just want you to sleep. But you have to be at home to do that.”

“God, how are you this logical on so many drugs? This is why I hated when we were on opposite sides of the debate team.”

Matt beamed.

“Don't look so pleased with yourself. Okay, it's 8pm now-”

Matt frowned. “What day?”

“Tuesday. You didn't lose that much time, don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow morning, okay?”

“I'll be fine,” Matt assured him.

“That's what I'm worried about,” Foggy sighed, patting him on the shoulder.

Matt listened to his heartbeat go down the hall, and then leave the building. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“You're an idiot.”

Well, that could only be one person.

Matt tipped his head towards the door. “Hi Claire.”

She swatted him on the shoulder before giving him a kiss on the forehead. “Why didn't you tell me the pain was so bad?”

“Wasn't,” he mumbled.

“Or localized to the exact spot your appendix is?”

“I'm a lawyer, not a doctor.”

“Smart ass.”

Matt smirked. “It all turned out well enough, right?”

Claire laughed. “You only think that because you're on more painkillers than my abuela.”

“Well, send her my regards.”

Claire was quiet for a bit. “I looked at your chart. You were not in a good state when they brought you in. A SAPS II of 36, an APACHE II score of 12.”

“I have no clue what those mean,” Matt huffed.

“In sum, not good. Pretty bad actually.”

Matt hummed. “Sorry?”

“Also, I heard that you're scheduled for another surgery.”

Matt frowned. “How did you hear that.”

“I have my ways. And I work here, so that helps a lot.”

He'd forgotten about that.

“What time is it?”

“The surgery?”

“No, what time is it now?”

“Oh, the middle of the night. Around 1am I think. Why?”

“So you came to visit me in the middle of the night?”

“Technically I'm on break.”

Matt sighed. “You really didn't need to do that.”

“I did, because I needed to lecture you and hit you.”

“Well, you've done those.”

“Yes, I suppose I have. Why, you anxious for me to leave?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “I feel like all I've done is sleep for days.”

“Well, that's probably what you'll be doing for the next while as well. You're on some pretty heavy antibiotics and a lot of painkillers. And you're still feverish, so the best thing for you really is sleep.”

“I feel useless,” he said quietly.

“The city will be fine without you for a few nights. It was fine before you started. It can survive while you take care of yourself.”

“I suppose.”

She was quiet for a minute. “You send Foggy home?”

“Yeah, he needed to sleep.”

“So do you,” she reminded him.

“Well, I was doing that.”

“Point taken. I'll leave you alone now. But you've got some of the best doctors and nurses looking after you, so I'm sure you'll be well taken care of. Still, call me if you need anything, okay?”

Matt nodded, and Claire gave him another kiss on the head before slipping out the door.

 

Matt closed his eyes and pretended it made a difference.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I brought you a balloon.”

Matt smiled. “What does this one have on it?”

“It's a bear,” Karen told him. “I thought I was going to have to fight with the nurses, but I pointed out that it wasn't latex and therefore not against the rules. I'll put it over next to the window, okay?”

“Sure,” Matt agreed.

“So,” Karen began, sitting down in a chair at his bedside. She was nervous; Matt could tell that much. “How are you doing?”

“Not bad,” he admitted. “I'm apparently still on a lot of drugs. So many drugs. I guess Foggy probably told you.”

“Oh yes. He told me all about it.”

Matt shuffled up a bit in the bed, and Karen took pity on him, pressing the buttons to make the bed move. Matt couldn't tell them apart, or remember when the nurses explained it to him. Maybe Foggy would make him braille labels. But that would be assuming he'd be in the hospital long enough to make them worthwhile. Maybe not.

He wasn't in intensive care anyone. Apparently he was still in a higher dependency ward, where there were only two or three patients to a nurse, but anything was a step up.

“Matt?”

At Karen's mention of his name, he turned back to her and smiled. “Yeah?”

“You looked like you got lost. Feeling okay?”

He shrugged. He could tell he was still feverish and definitely high, but other than that he was mostly okay.

“Where's Foggy?” he asked, changing the subject.

“He went into the office. Apparently there were a few things he had to do before coming to see you.”

“Like, actual things involving actual clients?”

Karen laughed. “Sort of. Not quite. There's just a detective agency that we're doing some work for. Nothing urgent, but Foggy wanted to let her know.”

Her? Perhaps Foggy was looking for a date. Matt grinned. “Well good for him,” he said diplomatically.

“Yeah, I guess.” Karen sounded unsure. Maybe she didn't know what Foggy's intentions were.

Of course, maybe Matt didn't know either, since everything was still rather hazy. Almost literally, since his radar could only make out the vague sense of shapes, much like it did when he was first learning how to use and control it. Pre-Stick era. Man, Matt hated him.

“Are you okay Matt?”

He was frowning. That was probably why she was asking.

“I'm fine,” he assured her, straightening his mouth into something less like a grimace.

“Foggy was really worried about you,” Karen blurted out. “I mean, the one day he gives me off of work, and all this happens.”

“You couldn't have done anything,” Matt assured her.

“I know that, but I could have been there for Foggy at least. He called me when you got to the ER, panicking, and he called me again after you were taken into surgery and stayed on the phone for two hours. I fell asleep and he was still talking when I woke up. Don't tell him that though.”

“I'm like the sphinx,” Matt promised, and it almost hurt how true it was. He would tell Karen. Eventually. (And to be fair, this time he wasn't even lying. Appendicitis had nothing to do with being Daredevil.)

“Well,” Karen said brightly after a minute of silence. “I suppose I should let you get your rest. I'll be back to visit tomorrow. Foggy says you shouldn't be in here much longer than that, so get prepared to watch all the shows with descriptive video that Netflix has to offer when you get home.”

Matt smiled. “Thanks Karen.”

She gave his hand a squeeze before leaving, with the balloon moving lazily in the ambient air currents next to his bed.

 


	7. Chapter 7

His second surgery was the day after, and his recollection of that one was about the same as the first. Foggy squeezing his hand, assorted doctors, and being told to count backwards. This time he made it to six.

 

At least when he woke up that time, he remembered the blindness thing and didn't blink stupidly in the hope that something would change.

 

“Hey Matt. You just had surgery and now you're in post op. Do you know what day it is?”

“Thursday?” he asked, untangling his tongue.

“Yep. And do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” he said with more confidence.

“Great. And your name?”

“Matt.” That one was easy.

“Seems like you're doing okay. We're going to watch you here for a bit longer before sending you back to the ward.”

“Foggy?” Matt asked.

“Your friend? He knows that the surgery went well and he'll be waiting for you when you get back to your room, alright?”

He nodded, eyes already closed again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Apparently the first surgery was to remove most of the infected tissue and to sort of... rinse off the tissue? Matt was trying hard not to think about it. It had worked pretty well for the drainage tube that had been hanging out of one of the incisions for two days, and he planned on keeping a good thing going.

He'd never been one to pretend problems didn't exist-

Oh. He kind of did. He did that whole thing where he ignored his appendicitis and nearly died, although to be fair he had taken care of what he thought was a stomach flu.

He supposed that counted for something.

Okay, so he wasn't one to consistently pretend that his problems didn't exist, but for things like the drainage tube, it was definitely a good plan.

 

“When can I go home Foggy?” Matt asked.

“I don't know, stop whining,” Foggy replied, flipping through a magazine.

“I'm not whining,” Matt protested. He might have been whining a little bit.

“Yes you are and stop it before I tell Claire.”

Matt frowned. “Not fair.”

“No, you know what's not fair? Having to call paramedics because my best friend passed out when he tried to stand up. That's what's not fair.”

Matt sighed.

“You'll get to go home when the doctors are confident it won't lead to your death, alright? I don't want to have to go through that again.”

“Wasn't that close to death,” he mumbled.

“Tell that to your chart,” Foggy retorted.

Matt only sighed again. He knew it wasn't worth fighting, but he honestly did want to know when he could expect to go home, whether it be in a day or a week.

He wasn't sure he could survive a week though.

 

“If you're willing to behave though, I brought you your laptop,” Foggy told him, setting down the stupid magazine and pulling his bag closer.

“I always behave,” Matt muttered.

“I mean no work. None. Zero.”

Matt rolled his eyes.

“But I did bring the last disc. You went through the first series pretty fast, didn't you?”

Matt beamed. “I was going to thank you. They're amazing. I especially love the commentary on Captain Jack's butt.”

“It deserves it,” Foggy told him seriously. “Are you up to watching these last two episodes?”

“I don't see why not,” Matt replied.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I don't like him,” Matt said as soon as the credits started rolling. “Give me Nine back.”

“Oh, come on,” Foggy complained. “It's David Tennant. How can you not love him?”

“I want Christopher Eccleston back,” Matt told him. “Why did he have to leave?”

“Oh, just you wait until David Tennant leaves. I guarantee you'll be sobbing.”

Matt doubted that very much.

 

He fell asleep as Foggy began to list off reasons why David Tennant was such a good doctor, and Matt really only heard how he was such a big fan before he drifted off. When he woke up again, Foggy was gone, the laptop left behind, like he'd want to watch that episode again.

 


	8. Chapter 8

He was moved to a regular ward the next morning, and Foggy returned with the second series.

“I promise you will fall in love with him by the end of the Christmas Special,” he told Matt.

Matt doubted that as well, but he was willing to give it a try. They'd also weaned him from narcotics to other pain meds, and he was feeling the discomfort, so anything to get his mind off it would be good.

 

These episodes didn't have a recorded Foggy narration, but Matt got one better- the real Foggy.

 

“Oh my god, you should see it, they're literally carrying him it's amazing.”

Well. Maybe it wasn't better, but it was entertaining. Even if they had to keep going back because Foggy got distracted telling Matt something that wasn't entirely relevant to the plot, and missed what was actually happening.

 

“Well?” Foggy asked, the Christmas special over.

“It was... good,” Matt admitted, grudgingly. “I liked the Lion King bit.”

He could hear Foggy beaming. “Told you so. Now what about the next episode?”

Matt sighed. “Fine.”

 

They got through three more episodes until it was dinner time and Foggy was kindly asked to leave. Matt suffered through his mashed potatoes, meat that was called roast beef, and carrots. Hospital food wasn't awful, but it also wasn't very good. It sustained people and that was about it. The fruit cup wasn't bad, and he managed to score a hot chocolate, so overall, it was a decent meal.

His current nurse came in after dinner and gave him his medication, which Matt knew would help a bit, but still not dull the pain to where it had been for the last couple of days, down near non-existent. Still, he knew that it was a part of the recovery process, and would allow him to leave the hospital sooner if he wasn't in pain, and having his mind clear was also a plus.

He had to admit, the narcotics were nice for making everything fuzzy and nonthreatening, and helping him sleep.

 

After his vitals had been checked, and he was left alone for what would be at least a few hours, Matt hunkered down with his laptop and the second series of Doctor Who to rewatch the episode in the school. Foggy's narration had mostly consisted of him talking about how Sarah Jane had been a companion for a while and was still played by the same character, so he'd missed some of the episode itself. It wasn't as fun to watch on his own, but he could still hear Foggy's narration overlaying Rose and the Doctor bickering with each other.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He was discharged Saturday morning, his temperature back to normal levels, his pain controlled with oral medication, and his blood pressure holding steady on the low end of normal, which Matt assured the doctor was where it normally was.

He was also given an entire bucket of antibiotics he was supposed to take, so there was that little drawback.

 

As promised, Karen showed up at his apartment with soup and a list of all the shows and movies on Netflix with descriptive video. Matt picked out a show that sounded funny and bundled up on the couch as Foggy arrived with ice cream for the dessert.

 

Matt fell asleep shortly after soup, after the second episode, or maybe it was the third, it was hard to keep track. The show was hilarious, and he'd have to rewatch it when he could stay awake for more than 45 minutes at a time.

 

When he woke up, his head was on Foggy's shoulder, a slight drool spot where his mouth had been hanging open.

“Sorry,” Matt said.

“No big deal. Nothing you haven't done before,” Foggy said, raising an eyebrow mischievously. And if Matt could sense that, he must be getting better. Foggy was no longer just a rough outline, but he had facial features.

Matt beamed. “Don't go spreading lies now,” he warned as Karen giggled on his other side.

“Wouldn't dream of it. Take your antibiotics and go back to sleep Matty.”

Matt swallowed the pills and set his head back down on Foggy's shoulder, listening as a woman loses a bet and has to go on a date with her coworker.

Foggy strokes his hair a little bit as he drifts off, and he can't help but think they should have more movies nights, if this is how they turn out.

 


End file.
